Double Double Toil and Trouble
by hauntedlittledoll
Summary: Castiel Singer is just trying to survive to graduation, but between the prophecied Winchesters, quidditch, a mentor of questionable morals, & an unconventional romance w/ Meg Masters . . . it's looking less likely by the day. With apologies to Shakespeare
1. To This Great Stage of Fools

Castiel Singer was an eight year old wizard today.

At least, Castiel thought he was an eight year old wizard. It's hard to say for sure, because Castiel hasn't demonstrated a single instance of Accidental Magic in his entire eight years.

Professor Harvelle's little girl is only four, and today she conjured a birthday candle for her share of the thick cake that Castiel's mother made today with the house-elves' assistance. Joanna Beth had cried when Castiel blew out all his candles, and at first, Castiel thought that one of the adults had made the candle to cheer the toddler up.

Then the adults got really excited, and Professor Harvelle kissed the top of her daughter's head with obvious pride.

Castiel hasn't so much as changed the colour of a toy, let alone conjured a lit candle.

Once tea time was over, Castiel found himself an empty corridor without paintings to practice. He pulled a slightly wilted flower out of his robe pocket, and concentrated on turning the white flower to a yellow colour like his mother's favorite set of robes.

It didn't work. An hour later, Castiel still held a limp white flower as it began to rain outside. The waterworks were not completely limited to the outdoors however, as a few drops struck the knee of Castiel's jeans and offended the formerly-sympathetic mouse that he had attracted. It abandons Castiel and heads for drier ground as Castiel angrily swipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his robe.

He's eight years old. He's too big to be crying. Even if he does turn out to be a Squib, he shouldn't be crying about it like a baby. Joanna Beth is the baby after all. Not Castiel.

"Castiel?"

Castiel rockets to his feet even as he ducks his head in shame. He's definitely too big to be caught crying by _Headmaster Michael_. Even Castiel knows that Headmaster Michael is a hero and maybe even the greatest wizard in the world. He doesn't step outside his office all that often anymore. Not since Lucifer had disappeared.

To be caught crying on such a rare occasion was just Castiel's luck.

"Castiel?"

Castiel is a little surprised that the Headmaster knows his name. He's just Professor Singer's little boy, and the Headmaster is in charge of the _whole school_. He can't help but look up at the dark-haired man. The Headmaster doesn't look any older than Castiel's father, but he's ever so much older. Power lengthens a wizard's life and Headmaster Michael is very powerful.

He also seems very gentle, but Castiel was raised in a magical castle. Looks can be deceiving. Still, the headmaster asked again: "Castiel, why are you crying?"

Castiel bites his lip. He doesn't want to admit the real reason, but Castiel's parents have taught him to never lie. He looks down at his feet again.

"Today is your birthday, is it not?" the Headmaster prodded softly. "Did you not get a present that you wanted?"

Castiel blanched. He'd gotten great presents. Gobstones and chocolate frogs, cake and Wizarding comic books, and even tickets to see the Chudley Cannons play in a real quidditch game! His parents were the best parents ever, and all of the professors were very kind—even Professor Crowley!

"No sir," he gasped, and then reluctantly continued. "I'm crying because . . . because I'm a squib," he finished very softly.

"A squib," Headmaster Michael repeated, and Castiel knew a moment of terror. Would the Headmaster send him away to live with muggles now that he knew? Castiel wanted to stay with his parents, but Hogwarts was for wizards and witches!

"Yes sir," he whispered.

Headmaster Michael tilted his head to the side. "Why would you think such a thing?"

Castiel stared. "Because . . . because I can't do accidental magic. I can't make my toys move or change colour. I can't get things that Mummy and Daddy put out of reach, and if I fall down, it hurts."

Headmaster Michael nods along sagely.

"Daddy . . . Daddy says that everybody's different, and the magic will come when I need it, but I need it lots, and it doesn't ever come." Castiel was something his mother called accident-prone. "And Joanna Beth made a candle today just because she wanted one," he finishes in a big rush. If Headmaster Michael knows who Castiel is, than surely he knows Joanna Beth who definitely has magic. "She's only four!"

"And you are eight," Headmaster Michael murmured. "I see the problem." The headmaster held out his hand. "Come along, Castiel."

This was it. Castiel was getting thrown out for sure. He hoped his parents would miss him after he left.

But Headmaster Michael didn't lead him back to the Staff Quarters. Headmaster Michael took him all the way up to the Headmaster's Office, and waved away the gargoyle guardian. Castiel noticed miserably that the rotating staircase was almost as neat as the moving staircases downstairs, but was in no mood to appreciate the ride.

Headmaster Michael led Castiel over to a tall podium, and flipped a few pages in a book on top of it. Castiel waited quietly, but then the Headmaster picked up Castiel just like Daddy did when Castiel couldn't reach something he needed.

"This is the Book of Names. Every time a magical child is born in Great Britain, their name appears in this book so that a Hogwarts letter can be sent out when the time comes. Even muggleborn children have their names written in this book. This page contains the names of all the eight year old wizards and witches in Britain."

Castiel's breath caught in his throat. "Is my name . . . ?"

"Try the seventh one down," the Headmaster suggested with just a hint of a smile.

_Castiel Robert Singer_

It was written in a fancy script with the C bigger than all the other letters, but it's Castiel's name. And it's in the _book_. Castiel does have magic after all.

Headmaster Michael sets Castiel down and crouches beside him. "Your father is right. You'll see your magic soon enough. You're in the book, Castiel, and I believe that we can expect great things from you."


	2. We Do Wander Everywhere

The walk down to the Forbidden Forest isn't quite half a kilometer, but occasionally it feels much longer; especially when little six year old feet tire out halfway.

Any other professor would offer to carry Joanna Beth, but Professor Crowley just makes a few snide noises about small children and the untidy state of people who indulge them.

Castiel is 99% certain that is an insult. He's just not sure if it's aimed at Joanna Beth, himself, or their father.

However, in deference to Professor Crowley's spotless and stylish onyx robes, Castiel is carrying his stepsister piggyback. Joanna Beth is a great sport about this, and tries hard not to strangle him with her grip, but his scarf might be doing the work for her.

The wind picks up the fabric and twists it yet again. The scarf is a solid navy blue, but next year . . . next year, Castiel will get his very own school scarf in his House colors. Probably yellow and black, if he follows his father into Hufflepuff.

Joanna Beth's loose curls escape her hood, and the wind blows them into Castiel's face. Castiel pauses to shift her higher and clear his vision once more. Professor Crowley doesn't wait for them, but continues on towards the Forest. Castiel has to jog to catch up.

Once inside the Forbidden Forest, Castiel can finally set Joanna Beth down. The six year old isn't heavy, but Castiel is only ten himself after all. Professor Crowley is temporarily busied with the sorting of his containers and the specially-spelled nets, so Castiel can take a minute to set himself and his stepsister to rights.

He tugs her cloak more firmly around her, and replaces her hood. Then he brushes off his own robes, and readjusts his scarf. The line of trees takes some of the bite out of the October wind, and Castiel doesn't bother with his own hood. Instead, he tries to smooth Joanna Beth's hair back from her face so that it will stay this time. It's usually a pretty futile task, but Castiel is a stubborn young wizard.

"If you're quite finished," Professor Crowley sniffs. Castiel raises his hands in surrender, while Joanna Beth beams up at the adult and holds out her hands expectantly. The professor huffs and hands her a jar, pointing her towards a promising patch of dirt. All three pretend not to see the bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans that accompanies the gesture. Even Professor Crowley isn't completely inhuman.

Once Joanna Beth is settled in the middle of the dirt patch, Crowley spins his wand in an intricate pattern, muttering a long incantation as he backs up in a complete circle around Joanna Beth's little hunting ground. The protective barrier glows blue for a moment and settles into the earth. Now the little girl can't wander off, and most creatures won't be able to pass the warding.

Joanna Beth is here to find the flobberworms that serve as a primary food source for most of Professor Crowley's smaller creatures. It makes her feel useful, and keeps her out from under Bobby's feet in the Library while Ellen runs errands in Hogsmeade.

Castiel is here to help Professor Crowley round up a new batch of local pixies for the Second Years. Pixies are a Class Three creature according to the Ministry of Magic, which means that a competent adult wizard should be able to handle them. Castiel hasn't even started his First Year, but Professor Crowley trusts him with a lot of the creatures that the man uses in his class. He says that Castiel has talent and creativity with "the little beasts."

Castiel doesn't much like the Head of Slytherin House, but he likes magical creatures and he likes learning new things. He's been helping with the Care of Magical Creatures class from the time he was Joanna Beth's age and catching flobberworms in expansion charmed-jars.

So he takes his net and quietly slips into the forest looking for the electric blue coloring of the Cornish Pixie. A few escaped into the Forest every year, and apparently thrived despite their lack of natural camouflage. While a summoning charm would bring every pixie in the vicinity straight to you, a wizard _never_ dealt with more than one pixie at a time. The little buggers were mischievous, and the amount of damage they could cause increased exponentially with every pixie.

So Professor Crowley and Castiel hunt them with nets, immobilization charms, and cages. It isn't easy, but Castiel enjoys the hunt. Every time he reaches into the depths of his net to free a frozen pixie, Castiel feels the same thrill as when he successfully wins over a Hippogriff and those clawed fore-legs slowly bend.

Professor Crowley requires two dozen pixies every year—one dozen for the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Second Years and another dozen for the Hufflepuff-Slytherin class. Originally, Professor Crowley only caught eighteen at a time. That way, there would be the usual dozen and a few spares to replace any escaped pixies for the next class. Then came what would be known as **The Pixie Debacle of '19**. Professor Crowley refused to talk about it, and every year since twenty-four pixies are caught for the first term.

Castiel is on pixie #24 when the upper branch supporting his weight abruptly snaps. The pixie flies away, and Castiel crashes thirty feet downward through the rest of the oak's branches. Some kids bounce when calamity strikes like this, but Castiel's accidental magic never actually helps him out of a tight spot, and Castiel is left desperately hoping that he can catch _something_ before he hits the ground.

_"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"_

The roar comes from Castiel's left, and he chooses to pursue the mossy ground two feet from his nose rather than watch Professor Crowley approach. As if to add insult to injury, the pixie alights on the lowest branch to chatter at him.

"Are you a complete fool?" the professor demands, and Castiel refuses to engage in conversation until he has been restored—upright, thank you—to the ground.

As if realizing this, Professor Crowley drops him abruptly, in order to devote his full energy to verbally flaying his wayward protégé. Castiel knows most of the insults already, so he only has to pay attention to every third word. He sweeps one hand down his robes to remove the worst of the leaves, twigs, and dirt while respectfully waiting for the Professor to finish. It may take a while.

The pixie doesn't shut up either, and Castiel glares at it far above Professor Crowley's head. Immediately, it gives a little squeak and goes perfectly still. It falls as if in slow motion into Professor Crowley's outstretched hand.

The Professor taps his foot three times, sighs, and puts the pixie into the cage with the others. "Here's hoping that some formal schooling might actually channel your magic into some sort of self-preservation instinct," the Professor complains, as he spells Castiel's robes clean again.

Castiel drew himself up to his full height of 1.3 meters. "And here's hoping that you retire before I'm old enough to attend."

There was a split second of silence where Castiel truly regretted saying that to a professor, and then Professor Crowley gave a slow and contented smirk.

"Touche."

The professor spells one last (and completely unnecessary) _Scrougify_ over his shoulder, and starts back to the grove where they left Joanna Beth. Today's lesson appears to be over.

Castiel suspects that he shouldn't like what he's learned.


	3. A Plague o' Both Your Houses!

Castiel is trying very hard to refrain from trampling on Bobby's last nerve. It's a heroic effort for an eleven year old boy.

Castiel understands that Bobby is trying to right a summer's worth of havoc among the bookshelves. After a summer of doing as they please, the books have to be shepherded back into their appropriate places in preparation for the coming term. And Castiel is certain that he'll appreciate the job more once he is actually writing essays on hard-to-find topics, but right now, Castiel is practically vibrating with the desire to collect school supplies from Diagon Alley.

He's waited eleven long years for this, and really three or four hours shouldn't be such a struggle.

The job will go faster without Castiel and Joanna Beth underfoot, so Castiel is attempting to keep Joanna Beth entertained behind the desk while Bobby works. The adventures of Cinderella just don't hold her interest the way Marvin the Mad Muggle does. Unfortunately, comics do not quite rate any higher than flobberworms in their father's esteem. As Head Librarian, Bobby Singer is a book snob.

So Castiel bravely plows on through Cinderella's enchanted garden while Bobby raises a heavy-handed fuss among the periodicals. Several editions of the Daily Prophet have tried to sneak some questionably-written romance novels onto their shelves. It's going to be a long day, and Diagon Alley might be put off until the Saturday before September 1st.

"Professor Singer?"

A tall, scruffy man peers over the circulation desk at Castiel and Gypsy. Then John Winchester raises an eyebrow, and Castiel scrambles off the floor to greet the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor properly. It's only upon fully righting himself that Castiel comes face-to-face with a smaller green-eyed Winchester.

Castiel blinks.

Professor Winchester clears his throat, and Castiel glances upward hastily. "My father is in the stacks, sir. If you follow the . . . formidable display of vocabulary . . . you should find him rather quickly."

"Thank you, Mister Singer." Professor Winchester turns to his shorter companion with a few swift commands. "Stay here, Dean. Keep an eye on Sammy. Constant vigilance."

"Yes, sir."

A subtle glance over the desk confirms the existence of yet another smaller Winchester. This one appears to be closer in age to Joanna Beth although male in gender.

"My name is Castiel Singer," he introduces himself, and at the tugging on his robe, quickly adds, "and this is my sister, Joanna Beth."

"Jo," she corrects him softly, tugging on Castiel's robe.

"I'm Sammy," the smallest Winchester pipes up, putting both grubby hands on the desk for leverage. His brother belatedly grabs him around the waist and hoists him upward. "And this is my Dean."

Castiel nods with all due gravity and quickly moves to mirror the gesture with Jo before she gets any ideas about climbing him. "I'm going into my First Year," he offers to the older boy.

Surprisingly, this earns him a scowl. "I've had two years already—one at Beauxbatons, and one at Durmstrang, but Hogwarts won't let me start here until I turn eleven. I can't even use my wand without Dad's supervision."

Castiel glances down rather than meet the righteous fury head on. He can sympathize, but not encourage, and after a long moment of awkward silence, Sammy seems to accept it on his older brother's behalf.

"I'm eight," he announces loudly, squirming free of Dean's grip. "I was s'posed to start at Durmstrang, but I like muggle school better so I'm glad I gotta be eleven to go here."

Dean rolls his eyes, and cuffs Sammy gently. The little boy takes this with good-natured aplomb, and continues to gaze earnestly up at Joanna Beth and Castiel.

"Jo is almost eight," Castiel provides, _and not usually this shy_. "She likes the Wigtown Wanderers and making practice potions."

Dean's head swivels sharply. "No way . . . most people don't even remember who the Wigtown Wanderers are."

"I have the Walter Parkin action figure," Jo confesses into Castiel's collar. "And the toy meat cleaver."

Dean regards the little girl with new interest, but whatever he's about to say is forever lost when Dean's little brother yanks on his robe. "Dean. Dean, what's a meat cleaver?"

It is probably to the entire Wizarding World's benefit that Bobby Singer returned in time to field that question.

"It's a tool used to make meat. A wand works better in most situations. Now what are the four of you up to?"

"Nothing, sir," Dean hastily inserts, pushing Sammy behind him.

"Quidditch Teams," Castiel informs his father simultaneously as he sets Jo free.

Bobby snorted, and hefted his daughter. "I expect you to return from the Alley with school supplies, Feathers—not brooms or quidditch posters."

Castiel frowns. "But . . ."

"Professor Winchester will take you for your school supplies while I finish up here. Sam and Joanna Beth will stay with me while you and Dean go shopping. Two birds with one stone." Bobby's eyes softened a little, and to make up for it, the Librarian made a harrumphing noise deep in his throat. "Try to make friends, Feathers, and try not to incite a goblin rebellion while you're at it."

Castiel turns his gaze to Dean, albeit doubtfully. Friends? A goblin rebellion was more likely.


	4. And Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon 'Em

Castiel is still trying to get over the shock of his sorting when Professor Crowley showed them to the dorms. He's more than a little nervous that his father will be upset with him.

Before tonight, there was only a single Slytherin . . . a Fourth Year girl who is so cheerfully and blatantly tricky that no one held her house against her. No one actually wants to be a Slytherin though, and most of the older years had dwindled numbers from the war and lingering fear as it was. Once split four—three—ways, even the more popular houses have few new students each year. Slytherin had received none in the last three years to Professor Crowley's delight.

Trust Castiel to be the first to break such a streak.

Second, actually, Castiel reconsiders, turning ever so slightly to consider his new roommate. Gabriel Milton had triumphantly cast the Sorting Hat at Baldur Odinson in his hurry to join Anya Jenkins at the Slytherin table, and even now, the newest Milton at Hogwarts seems eager to claim his space in the Slytherin dorms.

Castiel knows Virgil Milton from his position on the Hufflepuff quidditch team. The Fourth Year Chaser had a somewhat terrifying focus on a broom, and spent more than a few detention periods in Bobby Singer's office for unnecessary roughness. Anna Milton is a pretty Second Year student who seems nice enough, but Castiel would appreciate her more if Anna had not offered to babysit Gypsy and Castiel for Professor Singer last year. That had been embarrassing.

Gabriel Milton doesn't appear to have much in common with either of his older siblings in either appearance or personality judging by the number of Zonkos products overflowing from the other boy's trunk.

He doesn't seem to have much in common with Castiel either. The cunning that the Sorting Hat had praised in Castiel might play a role in the art of pranking, but the sneakiness appeared to have passed Gabriel by entirely. Not that Castiel wanted to be sneaky like the Sorting Hat had encouraged.

_Sly, ambitious and cunning too,_

_ Slytherin embodied the traits of yew._

The poisonous tree is not one that Castiel appreciates being compared with. The blackthorn wood of his wand is far more amiable. The dark color of the wand might belie its steady nature, but Castiel likes having the symbol of authority in his hand. And the core is a strand of unicorn hair that all of his father's books insisted represents innocence. It wasn't the wand of a Slytherin—of someone sly, ambitious, and cunning.

_Your cunning will provide you and your loved ones with everything you could ever need, Castiel. Occasionally, the truest path is not straightforward, but sideways. Guard well against those you choose to follow, Castiel, and one day . . . they will look to you to lead. Your Professor is correct in claiming you for . . ._

_ SLYTHERIN!_

The word seems to echo in Castiel's mind all over again, and he shook his head hard to clear it. This unfortunately seemed to draw the attention of his new roommate.

"Hey, Singer!" Gabriel announces loudly, bouncing across Castiel's bed and slinging an arm around Castiel's neck to prevent sailing past the other First Year. "You live here, so I bet you know where the kitchens are, and all the names of the house-elves, right?"

Castiel tilts his head to the side rather than confirm or deny the accusation.

Gabriel grins wider. "I bet we can talk them into a late night snack."

Castiel stiffens. "It's against the rules."

"Rules, schmules," Gabriel waves a hand indifferently. "I don't think you understand, kid. We're the first Slytherins in three years, and you and I . . . we're gonna become _legends_, Castiel. So we're gonna need some fuel, and I'm thinking chocolate pudding for starters."

Fortunately or unfortunately for Castiel, the pudding was only the start of Gabriel Milton's influence on the young Singer's life.


	5. That Ever Offended Nostril

As soon as Castiel entered the boys' bathroom, he could hear the sobs. He carefully shut the bathroom door behind him, blocking out the sounds of the Halloween Feast. He moved down the line of stalls and knocked firmly on the last one.

There was a muffled choking sound, and then dead silence. Castiel didn't buy it.

"Sam Winchester."

The door opened slowly and the younger boy looked up at him wide eyed. "Cast-eel?"

"Cas-ti-el," the older boy sounded it out for the younger patiently. "I am not metallic."

"Castiel," Sam repeated, but without the questioning tone this time.

Castiel sighed and crouched to put himself on the other boy's eye level. It had proven useful in winning over Joanna Beth on more than one occasion. "Why are you not at the feast, Sam?"

"I'm not a student," Sam tried.

"That has not stopped Joanna Beth from successfully begging large amounts of sugar off of the students for many years now. Nor is it stopping your brother from flirting with every female in the Great Hall."

Sam's nose wrinkled. "Professors too?"

Castiel nodded gravely. "Professors too."

"Gross," Sam informed Castiel decisively, and smeared snot across his face as he swiped it with his sleeve.

"Among other things," Castiel sighed, and led the younger boy over to the sink where he wet his handkerchief and set to work on the child's dirty tearstained face. Making headway on one cheek, Castiel turned to the other and asked again: "Why are you not at the feast, Sam?"

A fresh wave of tears undid all of Castiel's hard work, and Sam pulled away. "My mother died November 2nd, Castiel. We d-don't usually do anything for Halloween because it's like this really big re-reminder."

Castiel caught the younger boy's collar and worked on the new mess. "My mother died when I was eight years old, and not long after my birthday. I doubt that she would want me to feel sad on my birthday as a result. My mother was firmly of the opinion that birthdays called for cake. And sometimes pie."

"I think my mother really liked Halloween," Sam sniffled, but hopefully. "And Dean says she liked chocolate frogs for sure."

"Then we should return to the Hall before your brother consumes them all," Castiel informed him, brushing off the child's robes and straightening his tie. He drew the line at restoring any semblance of decorum to Sam Winchester's hair. It was of his solemn opinion that with another two inches, it could be classified as a magical creature of XXXX standing.

"Yeah!" Sam grinned up at him and held out his hand.

Castiel regarded the appendage for a moment, then sighed, and reached out to take it within his own. Sam brightened even more if possible, and Castiel let the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. He was about to say something when Sam's eyes got impossibly large on such a tiny face.

Castiel hadn't heard the door open, but he spun immediately, putting himself between Sam and the threat.

It was a troll.

Trolls actually are rated as Class XXXX for their incredible strength, appetite, and stupidity, Castiel recalled. Professor Crowley despised their unsanitary habits, and it was always wise to have more than one wizard in order to thoroughly confuse it.

"Sam," Castiel began calmly. "If I distract the troll, can you run to the Great Hall for help?"

Sam nodded, peeking around Castiel. "How are you going to distract it?"

That was a very good question. Castiel would just as soon not be crushed. He cast about for a desperate moment looking for a suitable spell. He could make the club bigger, but that would only compound their problems. He could levitate the club, but he's not sure what will happen if the troll doesn't let go. Or he could transfigure the buttons on the troll's trousers into beetles, and that wouldn't help anyone while scarring all involved.

Castiel briefly observed that a First Year's education at Hogwarts was completely useless, and then decided a more physical approach would be required.

Digging a handful of gobstones out of his pocket, Castiel showed them to the younger boy. "I will throw these against the far wall, and when he goes to investigate the noise, you must run. Do you understand, Sam?"

Sam nodded.

"Get ready," Castiel warned, and pitched two of them across the room. They shattered against the far wall, and the troll's head swung in the direction of the noise. It didn't move away from the doorway, however, and Castiel realized the motion of Sam too late to prevent it.

The eight year old dove through the legs of the troll to freedom, and proceeded to run down the corridor, shrieking like a banshee.

Castiel had just lost a hundred years off his life span; the eleven year old was positive. However, Sam was presumably in one piece to make that much noise, and Castiel managed to refocus on the troll which was only now realizing that something was amiss.

It made a grunting noise as it surveyed the ground in front of it, and after a long moment lifted one leg to stomp downward. This belated effort to crush Sam merely broke through stone, and Castiel thought for a moment that if the troll continued its tantrum, he could simply wait for the teachers.

It was not to be. Within seconds, the troll seemed to forget about Sam entirely. Now it shook its club and bellowed at Castiel.

Castiel pegged it between the eyes with a gobstone.

The gobstone did as expected, and squirted the unfortunate troll.

Should Castiel survive this encounter, he can inform Professor Crowley with reasonable certainty that a troll's unsanitary state can be linked to its utter dislike of being wet.

"ARGHHHHHH!"

That's assuming Castiel lives long enough.

"HIIII-YAAAAH!"

Dean Winchester's arrival is usually heralded by noise, but the other boy seems to outdo himself this time. The ten year old boy then proceeded to tackle the troll, while his little brother ran to Castiel's side.

"Castiel," Sam panted. "I got him."

Castiel stared down in stupefied silence until a second war cry prompted him to action. "I told you to get help! A teacher. All the teachers!"

"You just said 'help,' so I got Dean," Sam protested.

"If you two are done caring and sharing over there, I could use a hand!" Dean hollered. His arms were locked around the troll's neck, but as far as the troll was concerned, Dean Winchester made an attractive, if somewhat wiggly necklace.

"Dean Winchester, get off that thing," Castiel ordered.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Dean shouted as the troll began to flail. Castiel shoved Sam behind him, and dove under a long arm. Using the troll's foot for a step up, he just managed to grasp the back of Dean's robes. With a hard tug and helped somewhat by the troll's struggles, Castiel successfully detached the younger boy from the troll. Granted, Dean then proceeded to land on top of Castiel, and they are both nearly crushed underfoot, but some small progress has been made.

"You're not allowed in here!" Sam yelled over them all. "Trolls must be in the cus-to-dy of a cert-i-fied trainer in pop-u-lated areas! Professor Singer said so!"

As far as distraction techniques go, it's proving useful. The troll has obviously never encountered anything like the small, lecturing child hiding behind a sink. Castiel and Dean take the opportunity to roll out of the danger zone.

The troll took a lumbering step towards Sam, and Castiel is preparing to attempt tackling the club out of the beast's grasp, when Dean Winchester proved such methods unnecessary. The other boy is standing across the room with Castiel's stolen wand in hand.

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

The club is ripped out of the troll's grasp with gigantic force, and the little pickpocket had obviously not thought ahead to the part where the club flew at him. Dean crumpled under the impact, and Sam screamed.

Castiel didn't hear it. Castiel's focus was on his wand, rolling slowly across the stones until it came to a rest next to the troll's left foot. The troll bellowed in response and lifted a foot. It became rapidly obvious that Castiel had no other option than to dive around and under the troll to reach his wand before the troll could stomp on it.

Castiel would later inform his father, Professors Harvelle and Singer, the Headmaster, and anyone else who asked that the Winchester brothers were terrible influences.

Castiel rolled onto his back, brandishing his wand as that large and smelly foot began to descend, and he bellowed:

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

The foot never made contact. Instead, the troll's head collided with the stone ceiling, providing a disturbing crashing noise that reverberated throughout the whole room.

"Wow," Sam Winchester whispered in the silence that followed. "We just took out a troll."

Castiel grimaced. He had just taken out a troll, thank you very much, and his spell wasn't going to hold up for much longer. His arm was already beginning to shake from the force.

Dean Winchester appeared in his line of vision then, and steadying Castiel's hand, directed the troll away from them all. The troll's weight took out a few toilets as it made a final echoing impact, but it didn't stir. Castiel counted it as a win.

"Wicked," Dean breathed.

Castiel grimaced as he sat up. The sound of footsteps promised anything but as the teachers finally approached. Castiel was beyond grounded.

He'd probably forgive the Winchesters if Dean taught him that spell though.

It was kind of wicked.


	6. How Many Goodly Creatures Are There Here

Hogwarts normally doesn't celebrate Valentine's Day. A few of the older students pair off, and chocolate finds its way into Dean Winchester's bag with alarming frequency every year, but it is an easily overlooked holiday in the Magical World.

A little muggleborn First Year is determined to change all of that singlehandedly. The chubby Hufflepuff had gone to the Headmaster and obtained permission to celebrate Valentine's Day 'in style.'

What style may be a valid inquiry.

The great Hall had been redone in eye gouging shades of red and pink, while the Hufflepuff stood over all with the dubious authority of his pink polka dot robes and transfigured wings.

"What exactly is he supposed to be?" Gabriel squinted. "I mean, give the Firstie props for sheer nerve, but what on earth is he dressed as?"

"Just be thankful he's dressed at all," Castiel grimaced. "Bobby had to threaten locking him in the dorm for the day before 'Cupid' there would get dressed."

Gabriel grimaced. "There is such a thing as going too far for the sake of authenticity.

The First Year was apparently beginning at the end of the alphabet or possibly the biggest pile. Dean Winchester's conquest took most of breakfast, and the First Year followed them as the three boys made their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts. At first, it wasn't so bad watching Dean preen under the recital of his various praises while mocking some of the more terrible rhymes, and then there was the amusement of Dean's angry blush that occurred when the First Year hugged him at the end.

It was all rather harmlessly ridiculous until the Firstie unrolled his scroll, looked around, and then . . . then his eyes settled on Castiel.

"I have a singing Valentine for Castiel Singer."

Castiel did the only thing any self-respecting twelve year old boy would—he ran.

The First Year followed with impressive speed for his chubby figure, but the classroom door was only a little further . . .

Castiel might have made it if Meg Masters hadn't jumped out in front of him in a rare show of House solidarity. The precious few seconds it cost him to navigate around the younger girl amounted to Castiel's downfall. Literally.

The chunky little beast tackled Castiel to the ground, adjusted its fluffy white wings, and dramatically unfurled his scroll from his perch atop the Second Year.

Then he announced it again: "An Anonymous Singing Valentine for Castiel Singer."

Castiel willed everything he had into disapparating on the spot, but the wards of Hogwarts held.

_Every time the school bell rings,_

_I think of the prude of the hour._

_He's an angel without wings,_

_But a pure heart, I'd as soon as devour._

"That's just creepy," Dean deadpanned in the silence that followed. As the giggles began, Castiel struggled valiantly to keep his expression blank. The self-proclaimed 'Cupid' allowed him to regain his feet, and Castiel submitted to the hug with the same icy resignation.

"I'm sure she means the best," the First Year assured him. "Poetry is just hard for some people, you know?" With that cheerful commentary, the First Year skipped down the hallway to find more victims.

"Why didn't you tear his fluffy little wings off, Cas?" Dean asked as they made their way back to Gabriel.

"I tried," Castiel delivered in a clipped, measured voice. "Permanent sticking charm." Castiel's roommate hadn't yet stopped laughing, so he kicked Gabriel on principle. "Get up, Gabriel. We'll be late for class."

"You've got an admirer, Castiel," Gabriel managed to gasp out between snickers. "A psychotic one."

"I had noticed," Castiel responded dryly, refusing to meet any of his female classmates' eyes as he successfully managed to reach the DADA classroom which was mercifully devoid of Hufflepuffs.


	7. For 'tis the Sport

Quidditch try-outs are actually more hazardous than the game itself, Castiel considered, dodging a stray bludger. Gabriel zooms past to deal with it, all the while criticizing his younger brother's technique. Balthazar sends a rude gesture Gabriel's way, and peace is more or less restored in the Milton family. They'll all be happier once Balthazar can finally quit the team.

This is actually the first year that Slytherin has enough players to pick and choose its house team, and Gabriel's determined to at least find a new beater if not replace Christian Campbell entirely.

Christian Campbell isn't a bad chaser, but Gabriel's confided more than once that the younger boy creeped him out. Castiel is of the opinion that creepiness should not count against a quidditch player, but it's not his decision. Gabriel Milton is the Slytherin Team Captain.

And Castiel does not want that job for anything.

The newly minted Second Years are clustered below, and there's a red scarf amidst the green. Where ever Jo Harvelle goes, Sam Winchester follows.

Castiel is curious. Jo had mentioned trying out for the quidditch team this year, but hadn't specified a desired position. Castiel considers briefly his sister in the chaser position that Gabriel so wants filled, but Jo Harvelle and Ruby Masters playing the same position is just asking for bloodshed. Jo is a team player . . . so long as you're on her version of team. Honestly, for Jo's build, Castiel would peg her as a Seeker, but that position is Castiel's already.

Castiel hovers in the sky as a fight breaks out amongst the chasers in order to watch his little sister below. She's gesturing wildly to Sam and Ava Wilson, and Castiel's eyes narrow when those expressive hands seem to mime swinging a bat.

Not on Castiel's watch.

Before he can move to intervene, Gabriel flies up beside him and throws an arm around Castiel's shoulders. "Kill me now," Gabriel begs, and Castiel quickly adjusts his balance to keep Gabriel from toppling him over. The other boy gives a good-natured shove, and refocuses on the Second Years. "New blood," Gabriel announces with relish, before his expression turns crestfallen. "Is this it?"

Castiel isn't sure what Gabriel was expecting. There were only three Slytherin Second Years, and Gabriel saw them every day in the common room. Heck, the other Fourth Year pranked little Ansom Weems twice a week.

"Ava Wilson has excellent Transfiguration scores and a perfect swish-and-flick motion to her charms," Castiel offered. "She might serve as a reserve Chaser if she shows the same coordination on a broom. Did you ask Professor Turner about their individual flying skills?"

"Why would I do that?" Gabriel blinked. "That's what I have you for."

Castiel would be more annoyed with his self-proclaimed "blood brother" if he hadn't expected that exact response. "I'll ask him after dinner for a more professional opinion," Castiel responded, still watching the situation on the ground.

"Isn't that your little sister?" Gabriel asks, craning his neck oddly for a better look. "What's she doing here?"

It isn't that Gabriel doesn't know perfectly well who Joanna Beth Harvelle-Singer is. It's just that Gabriel can barely stand his own siblings, and the idea that Castiel is fond of his own sister appears to be a foreign notion to his friend.

"Jo does enjoy quidditch," Castiel replies dryly. "So she would appear to be trying out . . ."

. . . for the beater position, and Castiel does not approve.

"Hey, runt! Not you, Weems, the other one!"

Castiel could tell his friend that isn't the way to handle the daughter of Professor Ellen Harvelle. He could. But he won't.

"Yeah, Little Singer, we've already got a seeker, thanks!"

"I don't want to be a seeker," Jo smiles very sweetly; Sam starts to back away. "I'm trying out for the beater position."

"Thank Merlin," Balthazar mutters under his breath.

Gabriel smiles in a way that the Fourth Year probably considers benevolent. It looks more like a self-satisfied cat. Castiel looks forward to watching Joanna Beth wipe it off his roommate's face once they're all back on the ground.

"Balty!" Gabriel calls, ignoring the death glare leveled at the back of his head. "Loan Little Singer your bat a second."

Jo mounts her broom and meets the reluctant quidditch player in the air. Balthazar hands over the bat after a demonstrative swing, and the blonde adjusts her grip for better balance.

Gabriel looks over to Castiel with a wicked grin, and summons the immobilized bludger from the ground. "Alright, sweetheart . . . if you can hit this all the way back to me on the first strike, then you can have the other beater position."

Jo nods, and chokes up on the bat.

Gabriel releases the enchantments on the ball, and pitches it hard in Jo's direction before the bludger fully wakes up.

In Gabriel's defense, not even Castiel had expected Jo to actually connect with the bludger, let alone send it back into the Slytherin Captain's midsection with heretofore unknown strength.

In Castiel's defense, the gobsmacked expression on Gabriel's face two backflips later is absolutely priceless, and his friend had been asking for it.

"Sweetheart?" Gabriel gasps out, trying to restrain the bludger long enough for Castiel to immobilize it. "Can you do that every time?"

Jo nods with the little self-satisfied smirk that promises trouble.

Gabriel shoved the still-struggling bludger at Castiel. "Marry me?" the Fourth Year bellows across the pitch, causing Castiel's eye to twitch.

"Not on your life," Jo returns smartly, and accepts Balthazar's congratulatory (and grateful) hug instead.

Gabriel sighs, and finally immobilizes the blasted bludger. "She's just a Second Year. I've got time."

"I know where you sleep," Castiel informs him calmly.

The try-outs are worse than the game—honest.


	8. The Robbed that Smiles

Castiel had never been to the playhouse before. His mother had been fond of the dramas they could get on the Wizarding Wireless, but the Singer family budget didn't have money for an evening of culture.

Meg actually _owns_ the playhouse.

Apparently, when their father passed on, he left the playhouse to Meg and a swanky restaurant to Ruby. They grew up in such places, and Castiel has seen the pictures in the Society pages of the Daily Prophet. Meg belongs to this world, and while Castiel may know all the best comedy lines of _Bowtruckles and Broomsticks_ . . . he's never even seen a ballet.

Meg's invitation had come out of the blue. Up until this year, the Masters girls had taken special delight in tormenting Castiel. Even now, he's been unable to dissuade Meg from calling him "Clarence." Dean assures him that it is a muggle reference, but Castiel still found the name and Meg's behavior disconcerting. He would have turned her down if the opportunity presented itself.

Meg doesn't take no for an answer.

As a fourth year, Castiel wasn't technically supposed to leave the grounds during term for anything but a Hogsmeade visit. The fact that he broke the rules in order to come to London with her makes this a rare occasion—and usually only Dean Winchester serves as an instigator of such rebellion.

He is unwilling to give the Third Year any credit whatsoever this time.

Meg seemed eager to encourage the theme. Her guardian could excuse her from the school at any time, but she chose to sneak out with Castiel. Then she took it a step further and they snuck inside the theater to watch from a darkened corner of the balcony. Meg could have had any seat in the house, could dress to impress even the most stuck-up ministry officials, and she could have invited anyone to attend any opening night event with her.

Meg doesn't want that. Apparently, she wants to take Castiel Singer to the theater for the first time in his life. She wants to sit with him in the worst seating of the house and spend half the time shushing each other.

This isn't even an actual performance. It's a dress rehearsal for Cinderella, and there's something wrong with the lighting spells, because the filmy purple swirls of smoke from the dream sequence have been up for two acts now. One of the ugly stepsisters is wearing a Weird Sisters t-shirt with her hoop skirt, and the Director has been guzzling Firewhiskey all night. A member of the chorus is flat, and even Castiel knows that it's a theater tradition for the worst dress rehearsals to lead to the best opening nights.

It's an odd date.

Meg doesn't ask his opinion of the play as they return to the school. She doesn't ask for permission to kiss Castiel. It's alright; he didn't ask permission to kiss her back.

Castiel is pretty impressed with himself until he realizes that she stole his knife.


	9. Ever Precise in PromiseKeeping

Some of the Slytherin First Years were out after curfew. Castiel isn't a prefect, but he has connections—a little sister strangely not among their number, and a Head of House willing to look the other way if the Fourth Years can handle this on their own.

Gabriel's taken the grounds, and Castiel is combing the castle. The last thing they want to do is attract the attention of the teachers, and Castiel is sneakier.

Castiel might even be experiencing a little pride right up until a hand reaches out of nowhere to yank him behind a tapestry.

Castiel opens his mouth to lecture, but it isn't an errant First Year. It's a certain Gryffindor out of bounds.

"There's a demon in the school," Dean hissed.

"The Headmaster wouldn't allow such a thing," the Fourth Year hissed back.

"Then why did he hire Azazel?" Dean demanded, his eyes flashing. "He hired a Demon, Cas."

"That's not possible," Castiel shook his head. Bobby would have known; Bobby would have said something.

"He took Sam."

The frightening concept echoed in the ensuing quiet.

"What are you going to do?" Castiel finally asked, because the other boy was Dean Winchester and when Dean Winchester's brother was in trouble, Dean Winchester did something about it.

"I'm going to go after my brother." Dean straightened, staring hard at Castiel. "And I want you to go with me."

Castiel shook his head slowly. "We need help. Our fathers . . . the Headmaster . . ."

"Dad's gone. The Minister of Magic called him in to help the aurors. There isn't time, Cas. We have to go."

"Jo . . . Gabriel . . ." The former for comfort, and the latter for sheer dumb luck, but Dean shook his head impatiently.

"Are you with me or not, Cas?"

Castiel has to make a choice, and he doesn't know which way to look to break eye contact with his best friend . . . his first friend . . .

"Feathers, you get down to your common room now." Bobby Singer has appeared behind them, and he looks cross. "Go on, and look after Jo. Don't make me tell you again."

And Castiel obeys, but reluctantly. As he drags his feet, he can hear Bobby pledge his services instead.

And for an irrational moment, Castiel wishes he was a Gryffindor. He wishes that he had enough courage to go the instant Dean had told him about Sam—before his father showed up. He wishes that he was Bobby Singer, standing at Dean's side ready to look into the mouth of Hell.

Castiel wishes it wasn't too late to change his mind.


	10. Come Hot from Hell

Dean hadn't spoken to Castiel in months. Some might consider Castiel's distress overly dramatic as the Summer Holidays were three months long, but when a person's best friend was actually living with them for that duration . . . three months was a very long time.

Sam had been playing the anxious peacemaker all summer; the trauma of being kidnapped, half-killed, and losing his father all at once creating a clingy side to the formerly-independent twelve year old. In the interest of sparing Sam, Castiel decided to just give Dean the space the younger boy wanted. It couldn't hurt.

Only it was now a month into term and the firstborn of the Singer and Winchester clans were still communicating solely through their younger siblings. Worse, the Inter-School Tournament had been resurrected this year in hopes of smoothing over some old grudges.

The spirit of cooperation was strong in the Ministry of Magic if not in the schools themselves. Castiel didn't presume to understand Durmstrang or Beauxbatons inner politics, but he had lived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry his whole life, and Castiel knew the lines of tension in his home.

Bobby Singer had almost resigned when Dean's name had appeared in the Tankard of Fire, but Headmaster Michael insisted that Dean was prepared for the challenges that lay ahead—even more so than the older students for whom the tasks had actually been designed. The professors were divided by the quarrel, and the students had taken weeks to calm down from the uproar.

By the time November rolled around, Castiel was pretending to ignore Dean out of spite. It wasn't particularly believable, especially in light of the upcoming competition.

Everyone in Hogwarts could tell that Castiel Singer knew a moment of sheer envy when the First Task was revealed.

Dragons. Why did Dean have all the luck? Hungarian Horntails are some of the most fiercely protective parents in the animal kingdom—magical or muggle. A more thorough study of the Horntail could completely revolutionize the entire magical world's understanding of dragons as a whole.

And then Headmaster Michael explained what exactly the champions had to do: steal an egg from the nest. Castiel rethought his opinion of Dean's luck immediately. To steal an egg from a nesting Horntail was suicidal.

Even as Selene entered the field of combat, Castiel was trying to fight his way free of the stands. The excited students barred his way at every step. The Beauxbatons student had succeeded in capturing her egg, but only by injuring her dragon. Castiel collected his outrage and channeled it into successfully bypassing the Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs were easier to wade through, and Castiel found himself level with the Gryffindors at last. There was one student in particular that he needed—Sam Winchester.

"What's his plan?" Castiel yelled, trying to make himself heard over the screaming student body. "Did he tell you anything?"

Sam's answer was lost in the general cheering. Castiel caught the younger boy's shoulder and navigated their way down the last set of stairs. The banners offered some degree of soundproofing under the stands, and Castiel directed the Second Year there. "What did Dean say?" he repeated.

Sam looked at the ground, and barely whispered the hallowed words of Dean Winchester a loud.

"I'm Batman."

. . .

_I'm Batman._

. . .

"What?" Castiel demanded, making Sam flinch. "Beg your pardon," Castiel corrected, blanking his expression. "What does that mean?"

Sam shrugged.

Castiel counted to ten and then with the most polite tone possible, he informed Sam: "Your brother is an idiot."

Sam nodded.

"We had best go rescue him," Castiel decided. "Where's the Champions' tent?"

"It's too late," Sam protested, pointing across the field. "Dean is next."

Castiel watched Dean marching out into the field. The other boy looked confident; maybe Dean had a plan after all. Then Dean cautiously approached the wary dragon. "Hello, dragon. _Nice_ dragon."

"He's doomed," Castiel delivered flatly.

Dean touched the nest and barely rolled in time to avoid the jet of flame issued by the irate mother. Castiel cast about for a plan; Slytherins normally needed time to plan, but Dean Winchester was unintentionally training Castiel to think on his feet.

The school broom shed wasn't far away.

Pros: Brooms can fly, they carry up to two people, and they're fast. Cons: School brooms are notoriously unreliable, and dragons can also fly.

A second stream of fire made the decision for Castiel. Brooms it was.

Castiel hexed open the lock at a distance, and grabbed the first broom that he touched. It was a Cleansweep 3, and the tail was a proper mess, but it flew with some speed if perhaps not the best direction.

The Teachers' Box had been warded to repel anything from inside the arena, but it was the only place not warded against entering the arena during the tasks. It was the only weak spot in the warding, and Castiel had to fly upwards fifty feet to take advantage of the chink. He took great pleasure in knocking off several hats as he zoomed through the narrow opening. By this time most of the field was alight, and Dean (who had somehow gotten the egg) was running out of places to hide. Castiel bent over the broom willing it to move faster.

Dean had spotted the errant Fifth Year by then. "What do you think you're doing?" Dean bellowed, completely oblivious to the approaching dragon.

Castiel got a handful of the other boy's robe, and yanked upward just as the dragon flambéed the spot they had just vacated. Dean continued to swear, and Castiel looked past the irrational younger boy to survey the field below. It was entirely alight in flames, and the Hungarian Horntail was following them upwards while Dean continued to demand what Castiel was doing.

Castiel sighed. "I am raising you from perdition."

Dean didn't have a repeatable answer for that, but at least he was talking to Castiel again.


End file.
